


Overdue

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Dean tries to return a very overdue library book and gets a surprise in return.





	Overdue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4Jackles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4Jackles/gifts).



> Hello!
> 
> This is from the following prompt by the lovely 4Jackles <3
> 
>  
> 
> _Dean finds a book while helping Sam move out on his own, and realizes it’s the library book he thought was lost – two years ago. He takes it to the library and is embarrassed when he tries to explain to the ridiculously hot librarian, Castiel, the reasons why it’s two years overdue. Cas is not amused, but settles for wiping his debt clean if Dean will go on a date with him._

Dean winces at the crashing sound coming from somewhere in the apartment, wondering how he will ever get used to there not being noise. He pauses from packing up what seems to be a never-ending stack of books, still trying to separate Sam's from his own.

The comic books and graphic novels are a sure thing, as is the stack of Vonnegut that he bought in a garage sale three years ago and won't let anybody else touch. But the healthy eating, the fitness books, and the ones on astrology are most definitely Sam's. The cosmology ones are probably an even split between them but in a fit of generosity, Dean gifts them all to Sam.

Dean tells himself he won't miss them, won't miss the strange green mulch in the fridge every time Sam is on a health kick, which is always. Won't miss the long hair in the shower that clogs the drain if Sam gets in the shower before him in the morning. He _definitely_ won't miss the smell that lingers and follows Sam around every time he makes them chili, and nor will he miss the pointed looks he receives for everything he eats that isn't _healthy_.

Sam, though, Dean thinks, sitting back on his haunches and staring up at the rapidly emptying shelves, Sam he doesn't know what he's going to do without. For as long as he can remember, and probably even back from when he can't, he and Sam have shared everything. Home. Clothes. Despair over their sometimes-present dad, and grief over losing their mom.

Sam curses out loud bringing Dean back from musings that are anything less than amusing, leaving him snorting in laughter at what is obviously a stubbed toe.

"It's what you get for leaving packing to the last minute and going round in those ridiculous flipflops," Dean says as Sam stumbles into their living room sideways with an oblong box.

Sam answers only with a scowl, and Dean thinks he will even miss that. Even if Sam's only moving across the city to live with Gabe, his boyfriend of two years, and he'll still see him almost every day of the week.

It's going to take them at least four trips to get all of Sam's things over in the Impala. Poor Baby is already piled high with clothes, more books, and Sam's overwhelming collection of toiletries that aren't already spilling over Gabe's bathroom shelves. They had a falling out over it just before Sam stomped off to his soon-to-be old bedroom, actually, for Dean insisting on wrapping everything that could spill liquid in food wrap or something, and Sam… not.

"I think this is the last box," Sam says as he drops the box he's carrying to the floor and collapses into the nearest armchair that is falling apart.

Dean winces as it creaks, promising himself that he's getting new furniture. There is no need for them to have been living like this with mismatched things and everything feeling temporary. There are reasons that their home looks like a never-ending stream of fusty motel rooms, but Dean's heart is heavy enough now, so he pushes the thought away.

"You wanna take anything from the kitchen?"

"No," Sam says, smiling, "that's all yours."

The kitchen is Dean's favorite room in the apartment, the only one he's always put the effort into doing anything with. With gleaming surfaces and sparkling pans, Dean is half-relieved everything is staying exactly where it is. Though he does both wonder and worry how the hell Sam is going to fend for himself when the man can barely boil an egg without some level of international disaster occurring. And Gabe's idea of _cooking_ is alternating between the take-out menus on the fridge

"You, uh… you want me to fix you something before we leave?"

"Dean," Sam says, bordering on exasperated even though he's smiling, "I'm good."

Dean nods, tells himself he isn't bothered at all by how eager Sam is to be leaving. Doesn't think on it too much as he rambles on about the unpacking he has to do, the friends they'll have over as soon as he's settled, and all the other things Sam has already got decided in this new life of his.

With a little more force than is necessary, Dean yanks at the bookshelf he's just emptied, trying to get it more flush with the wall. There is something blocking the side of it; Dean drops down to press his face into the carpet so he can see better, scrabbling around at the back of the shelf until his fingers close around yet another book.

"This yours, Sammy?" Dean asks, though he knows he isn't as soon as he looks at the cover.

It's a book on angel lore that he remembers taking out from the library months ago. _Years_ , Dean amends as he cracks back the cover and looks at the date stamped inside. Two of them; he's not even sure they still _stamp_ books in libraries these days.

"You maybe wanna get a beer?" Dean hears Sam say as he reads the blurb on the back of the book and tries to come up with a list of excuses for why he's so late returning it.

When Dean looks up Sam's look is guarded, and hopeful, and even, he thinks, a little bit lost. For all Sam's bravado and excitement, Dean thinks there is a little hesitance about this move he just hasn't got around to saying out loud.

Dean tosses the book on to the couch and groans as he pushes himself up to his feet, already heading into the kitchen to grab them a beer. He uncaps both bottles without thinking, sadness hitting him for a moment wondering how many times he'll forget and open two when it's just him living here now. Then walks back to hand one over to Sam, and listens as he continues to talk.

* * *

The library looks no different to what Dean remembers, down to the book carts with the creaking wheels leaving tracks in the faded green carpet, and the wallpaper peeling behind the small reception desk from where there was once a leak upstairs. It even _smells_ the same, that cloying, musty book smell that is half-comforting and half-stomach churning.

Dean doesn't even remember exactly why he stopped coming here, or when. Perhaps it was a change of job, or maybe during one of Dad's infrequent visits when Dean had focused all his energy on little else. Whatever the reason, two years is a pretty long time to be holding on to a _library_ book.

He can already picture the librarian berating him, has looked up online what kind of charges he might be in for so he knows what to expect. Dean has cash to hand but also his card if it gets too steep, though also checks he has a clear run to the exit in case some _late returns librarian police_ come marching out to drag him away somewhere.

Dean wonders if Mrs. Tran still works here, the sweet-looking lady who always used to serve him, terrifying Dean with her deathly stare whenever he made too much noise. It makes him think of her son Kevin, glancing over towards the tables he used to sit at wondering if he is still lurking around.

The table is full, half of the seats taken up by students bent over books and laptops, with the other side a swarm of rustling newspapers and furiously scribbled notes. Dean wonders then if on that last corner, right in the center of the divider, his and Sam's initials are still etched. He even makes a point of trying to walk past to see it, rolling his eyes when his view is blocked by the turning of a newspaper page.

Dean debates taking out another book while he is here, ponders slotting the well-overdue library book into one of the passing carts and making a run for it, then scolds himself for having come all the way here just to be looking to walk away again. The worst that can happen, he reminds himself as he squeezes the book to his chest beneath his jacket, is a thorough telling off. He is a little too old at this point to be so concerned about _that_.

Still, Dean takes several more laps of the library, casting a fond smile over some of the titles and even skimming his fingers along one of the shelves. Which is a mistake; he grimaces at his fingertips that are now covered in thick dust, looks around for somewhere to wipe them, then sighs as he skims them over the side of his jeans.

Turning on his heel, Dean makes his way back over to the desk hoping to find at least an almost-friendly face, giving the tall man currently serving a wide berth for the heavy furrow of his brow. He lingers by the end of an aisle waiting to see if there is anyone else that might be serving, still trying to perfect his excuses and coming up with nothing that sounds even remotely good.

Dean is still standing there several minutes later debating with himself when the tall man straightens up to his full height, and even seems to have a few inches on Sam. He has his back to Dean, though Dean can just about make another person that he's talking to, who he has to assume is taking over or starting his shift.

Dean thinks he can just about make out a mumbled conversation even if he isn't picking up any individual words. There is a snort of laughter that has to come from the tall guy for the way it echoes, followed by a clasped shoulder, and a bending down to retrieve a bag. Dean watches the man leave, disappearing into the depths of the library where who knows what happens, leaving Dean trying to work out just how much taller this guy is compared with Sam.

"Can I help you?"

Dean jolts for the voice that calls out, turning to look over his shoulder before realizing the words are aimed at him. His eyes finally land on the man who has replaced the _giant_ , and Dean feels his throat dry out.

He's _beautiful_. There is no other way to describe the man. Well, there is, Dean corrects himself, taking in the shirt fitting just so over muscle, the thick, dark hair standing up in all directions, and the piercing blue eyes he can even make out from here. But those words are a little too _lustful_ for a miserable grey afternoon, he thinks, letting his eyes linger over lips instead.

And that stubble, Dean adds, letting his mind wander to feeling it against his throat before he snaps out of it and tells himself to behave.

" _Puis-je vous aider_? _Kann ich dir helfen_? _я могу вам помочь_ perhaps?" Dean hears next, which is just _unfair_. How can this hot librarian who he's been staring at for less than a minute already know about his secret language kink?

"Uh—"

"I presumed that the reason you were looking so completely out of your depth was because you didn't understand the language," the man says, and leaves Dean arguing with his jeans that they aren't tightening, that he isn't having a reaction this strong.

His _voice_ , Dean thinks as he stumbles forward, trying to force his own to form words.

"I need to return a book."

"Then it is good that you have found yourself in a library."

"I… got it from here."

"That is most fortunate."

"It's… overdue," Dean adds, fumbling for the book inside his jacket and staring at the man from a little closer, arguing with his stomach that it isn't turning in excited knots.

"I am sure there is a good reason," the man says, his tone suggesting that there is no good reason. That there will never be a good enough excuse for why Dean has an overdue book.

"Uh…"

"Unless of course, there _is_ no good reason," the man says with an arched eyebrow for him. "That you have held on to that book for far longer than the three weeks you are allocated to borrow it, meaning other library patrons have had to _wait_."

 _Speak_ , Dean commands himself, unconsciously leaning against the counter, wondering about the man's last vacation for the shade of his tan. Then pictures him in bright blue swim shorts sprawled out on a sun-kissed beach and almost swallows his tongue for it, giving himself a coughing fit and feeling his face lit up red in the process.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"S—sure," Dean croaks out, his eyes now sweeping down over the man's back as he turns from him, falling to his ass as he bends to slot a plastic cup beneath the water cooler.

Dean does his best to avoid the man's fingers when he hands the cup over, stuttering out his thanks and feeling like a total moron.

"Now. If you will give me the book."

Dean slides the book across the counter and sucks in a breath, braced for an unsavory reaction. He watches clever fingers fly over a keyboard, watches his eyes narrow into a scowl, and stumbles back when that scowl is turned on him as though this librarian might smite him out of existence.

"Mr. Winchester," the man says, and _oh help_ , Dean thinks, for the way he says his name. "This book is 26 months and five days overdue."

"Yeah, that's… a while."

"That is an understatement," the man retorts, scowling even harder at him.

Dean is a helpless mess because he _likes_ being on the receiving end of it. "Uh… listen—"

Dean's eyes dart to the name badge pinned perfectly to the man's shirt, and wonders what _Cas_ might be short for.

"—listen, _Cas—_ "

"Oh, believe me. I am _listening_."

Dean is temporarily dumbstruck for the tone in his voice, finding that he needs to shake his head to clear it, and then berating himself for acting like such a fool.

"I'll pay whatever it is."

"Mr. Winchester—"

"Dean. Mr. Winchester's kind of… it's my _dad_ —"

" _Dean_ ," Cas amends, and Dean is helpless for how _good_ his name sounds on his voice. In. From his mouth. "What reason would a person have for keeping a book for so long?"

"I—"

"Have you read it?"

"I'm… pretty sure I read it at the time."

"Do you remember anything from it?" _Cas_ demands, thoroughly unimpressed with him.

"Uh—"

"What interest would you have in _angel lore_?" Cas adds, a heat to his glare that Dean is having trouble snatching his eyes from.

"I… was drawing."

"Drawing?"

"Yeah," Dean blurts out, "drawing. I needed some… I wanted some Enochian for this… thing I was putting together for a friend. Charlie—"

"Does _Charlie_ know the contents of this book?"

"I don't—"

"Is _he_ the one who is responsible for this… inexcusable tardiness?" Cas adds, his eyes narrowing a touch more, leaving Dean not sure whether to take a step back or lean in a little closer for it.

"Uh… no. No, she isn't, she… I mean. No. No, she's not."

"I see."

Dean half-wishes Charlie was here with him now so he would have something else to focus on besides getting so flustered. Then thinks about how hard she would tease him about his reaction to _Cas_ here, and decides it's a horrible idea.

"Does this _Charlie_ live with you?" Cas asks, and there is a tone in his voice that Dean doesn't know what to make of at all.

"Well. Practically. I'm the same at hers. Perks of having a best friend who thinks she owns the place."

"I see," Cas replies, narrowing his eyes a touch more.

"Look. I'll, uh… I'm really sorry—"

"Why are you returning the book _now_?"

"I was helping my brother."

"Your brother kept hold of this book?"

"Uh, no," Dean stutters, "no. Sam would never—"

"Then the tardiness is all yours," Cas concludes, glowering a little more.

Dean swallows hard, wishes there was still at least a sip more water in the cup he's currently crushing in his hand. "Uh… yeah. Yeah, it is."

" _Dean_. What do you propose to do about that tardiness?"

"H—how much?"

"How much _what_?"

"How much for the book?" Dean asks, watching long fingers begin to tap impatiently against the cover, and having to force his eyes elsewhere.

"Dean. This is a library. Not a bookstore. And there is no current event for selling old books."

"I meant how much for you—for the—"

"Neither am I for sale. Nor can be bought," Cas retorts, the glint in his eyes doing interesting things to Dean's stomach.

"I meant… uh… the fine. For the books. _Book_. How much—"

"This library ceased fining for late book returns almost a year ago," Cas replies. "Your timing is… convenient."

"That's… uh… that's _great_ —"

"Though there are still _penalties_ for overdue items," Cas adds, staring back at Dean so hard that Dean is sure he hasn't blinked in the entire time they've been talking.

"Like what?"

"That depends on the library. Some request canned goods that are collected and passed to the nearest food bank. Others ask for volunteers to read to some of our younger patrons. A colleague of mine in a library in Indiana has an arrangement whereby overdue fees have been wiped in exchange for maintenance around the library itself."

"What kind of maintenance?" Dean asks, sure he can hear the paper peeling from the wall behind them.

"Painting. Decorating. Labeling the shelves, oiling the book cart wheels. Many things."

"I… okay," Dean says, imagining that he wouldn't have a problem doing any of those things, aside from the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to get a single thing done for being unable to stop looking at this guy.

"Are you offering your services, Mr. Winchester? _Dean_?"

"I—"

"Or do you have an alternative suggestion?"

"I… what do you need?" Dean stutters out, again in danger of getting fixated on those long fingers now drumming against the counter.

"I require nothing."

"Then—"

"Though I am sure we can come to some… arrangement," Cas adds, once again making Dean's throat dry out. Even if Dean is sure the intent he's seeing on Cas' face is nothing but his own wild imagination and wishful thinking.

Cas sighs then as though Dean has either gravely offended him or inconvenienced him beyond any sense of recovery. He drops down on to his forearms, leaving Dean to helplessly dart his gaze between tautly pulled shirt sleeves and that stubble up close, before once again being stuck on the bright blue of Cas' eyes.

"...what kind of arrangement?"

"Given that this book is _very_ old. And _very_ overdue. It is difficult to know what the… penalty should be."

"I'll do anything," Dean finds himself saying and internally whines at his choice of words.

"Anything?"

"Yeah. I mean… yeah. I think so."

"You either know. Or you do _not_ know."

"I know," Dean blurts back at him, fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter and finding himself leaning in even more.

"Do you know the burger place two blocks from here next to the comic book store?"

"I do," Dean agrees, nodding, "I go there all the time. Got bacon cheeseburgers to die for."

"I agree," Cas says, with a hint of a smile. "Do you know what you are doing this evening around… seven?"

"I… uh… well, I didn't make any plans—"

"Dinner. Seven. At the burger place," Cas tells him in no uncertain terms, stamping something on the inside cover of the book before typing at the keyboard, and putting the book down on a nearby pile. "Are we agreed?"

"Uh… I—"

"Your payment, for the _heinously_ late return of this book," Cas says, nodding towards the book pile as he types at the keyboard again.

"My… you want me to have dinner with you?"

"Is your cell number still the same as it was when you checked out this book two years ago?"

"S—sure. I mean, it is."

Cas hums, still staring at the screen as he slides a phone from his back pocket, rapidly thumbing at it before putting it back. Dean's pocket vibrates, Cas' eyes on him the entire time he pulls it out to find a single _Castiel_ staring back at him.

"I dislike tardiness," Cas says when Dean manages to snatch his eyes away.

"I… okay."

"Seven o'clock," Cas repeats, all but glaring at him. "I will be in the booth nearest to the serving counter."

"I… well, okay Cas," Dean replies, feeling so out of his depth that he wouldn't be surprised if he was about to wake up from having a really bizarre dream.

"I look forward to it," Cas adds, with a warmer smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, that leaves Dean barely holding in a wistful sigh.

It isn't fair, Dean thinks, that he's both _hot_ , and _cute_. But he is. And somehow he's managed to score himself a date with the guy. Dean is convinced Cas' eyes are on him as he walks from the library, adding a little extra sway to his stride just in case. Adding Cas to his contacts as he walks down the steps, texting back a, _looking forward to it_ as he slides into the Impala, and unable to keep the smile from his face as he fires up the engine before heading for home.

* * *

 

 


End file.
